


At the End of the Day

by The_White_Rabbit42



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25116973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: Mick finds himself between a rock and a hard place with the BMoL and his relationship with you.
Relationships: Mick Davies/Reader, Mick Davies/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	At the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shaylybaby2032](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaylybaby2032/gifts).



_Assimilate or eliminate_

The order echoes in his head.

What will he choose when the moment comes?

“Mick?” 

He turns to find you sitting up, your eyes already clearing from sleep as you assess the situation. It’s a reflex, one of many that impresses him, considering how different your training has been from his. 

“It’s ok, love,” he assures, and he hopes his smile is reassuring. “Just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Beginning to think you sleep less than I do,” you tease. 

It's a telling thing to even joke about, considering in his mind you don't. You only take scattered naps or periodically pass out from exhaustion, and the only nights he’s seen you in bed for more than a handful of hours is when you’re with him. 

Even then, sleep is usually the last thing on either of your minds. 

He turns back around in his chair, expecting you to seize the opportunity and roll back over. “I’ll come to bed after this drink.”

He takes another long pull from his glass, startled to find you standing right next to him once he lowers it. 

“Let me help,” you murmur, a whisper of fabric ghosting over you as his T-shirt you’ve commandeered slips over your head and straight to the floor.

The real surprise is the fact you're not wearing any underwear. His eyes skim over you, momentarily distracted by the show of skin, but the heat doesn't begin to flare until you climb onto his lap. 

You take the drink from his hand, setting it behind you on the desk. The movement has your chest lingering at eye level, but it's the scar that sits an inch from your heart that catches his attention more than the swell of your breasts. 

So close. _Too_ close. On his watch, no less. He swore he’d never let it happen again, but now --

You card your fingers through his hair, dragging his attention back to the present as you pull his face to yours. 

He never knows what to expect when you kiss him. There are so many subtleties to your moods, to _you_ , so many emotions you allow yourself to feel. Tonight, there’s a tenderness that borders on something he hasn’t allowed himself to acknowledge, one that echoes deeply within himself.

Tonight, it refuses to be ignored, his walls crumbling beneath your touch at such an alarming rate he’s suddenly drowning beneath the deluge of everything he’s tried suppressing. 

“Wait,” he breaks away, breathless, hands pushing against your shoulders to ease you back. “Just… wait.” 

You stare at him, surprise giving way to intuitive alertness. You watch him, waiting for an explanation, and whatever you find in the depths of his gaze has a worry creasing your brow.

He knows he isn’t acting himself, but when does he ever when you’re around? With you, he doesn’t have to be a pawn. He doesn’t have to talk the game or adhere to any strict set of codes. He can just _be_ whoever he is in the moment, and now, more than ever, he hasn’t a clue what to do about it.

His fingers smooth along your cheeks, cupping your face gently within his hands. He wants to savor this moment; he wants the way the moon illuminates your skin to be seared into his memory. He never wants to forget the way your lips look, all flush and swollen because of him. He needs that spark in your eyes, the very one that made him fall for you, to be tucked away in a safe place within his mind. 

Because good things are not meant to last in this life, and you are everything that is good about his. 

“What’s wrong?” You finally ask. Those instincts of yours are razor sharp and have tripped him up more than once. You not only sense the dissonance inside him, you sense that it goes beyond the normal conflict his position and your relationship create.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he tells you, because not only is it the safest answer he can give, it’s still the truth. He almost lost you once. He can’t risk it again. He _won’t_. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re so confident, he almost believes you. Only you don’t know the Elders like he does, or how far they’re willing to go. You have no idea what you’re up against, and _that_ is what truly terrifies him. 

He wants to tell you, _aches_ to, just as much as he does for you when you’re away. But, the moment he breathes a word of it, you’re both dead. They’ll know, somehow. They always do. 

He’s not sure which fate would be worse anymore, considering his latest orders. 

“Stop thinking,” you order, tapping him on the nose to ground him again. “And let me help you.”

You run your hands up his chest, and this time when your mouth comes down to his, he welcomes the distraction, allowing himself to be swept away within the heat of the moment, and eventually yours. 

Even then, his mind doesn’t entirely let go of itself. He can’t help but marvel at how fierce you are, whether you’re slaying monsters or riding him in some dreary temporary bunker. You’re a force that cannot be tamed, no matter how hard he’s tried, and you’ve burned him so many times he’s learned you’re fire through and through. There’s no fetter in existence that can contain you, and it’s in this moment he knows what his decision is, what it will always be. 

You’re his wild American huntress, and he would die before he watched you become broken or leashed. 


End file.
